


praegressus

by armethaumaturgy



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, M/M, smol sormik
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 20:11:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11387529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armethaumaturgy/pseuds/armethaumaturgy
Summary: Sorey cocks his head to the side, frowning. “What? I just kissed you,” he says, as if it’s that easy.“Why?!”“Isn’t it normal? We like each other and we’ve always done this?”





	praegressus

**Author's Note:**

> this was a commission for someone anonymous! ♡

“You have ice cream on your lip,” Sorey points out, actually pointing at the Seraph with his (equally messy) finger.

“Oh— Lemme get a—” Mikleo reaches over to grab a handkerchief but Sorey is faster, leaning forward and pressing his lips to Mikleo’s. His tongue peeks out and swipes over the soft lips, licking the few stray droplets of the matcha cream clean before pulling away.

The boy looks immensely proud and happy with himself. “Delish!” he exclaims. “Mikleo, your soft serve is always the best!”

Mikleo’s cheeks flush with blood. “Natalie says I still have a long way to go,” he mumbles, and it makes Sorey gasp out dramatically.

“Natalie is wrong! Your soft serve is perfect!” the boy protests loudly. “Here, have mine and see for yourself!”

Sorey hands over his cone, slowly melting and dripping onto his fingers. Mikleo takes it and licks the vanilla cream. Though, when he tries to hand it back, Sorey shakes his head with vehemence. “No, you eat it. I’ve already had two. I’d get a tummy ache.”

“Why’d you ask for a third one then?” Mikleo asks, pouting. It only makes Sorey want to squish his cheeks, but he refrains. For now.

Instead he grins widely, his teeth shining in the sunlight, sans the hole where he’d knocked his front tooth out last week. “Because I can’t help it! It’s so good I just want to eat and eat!”

Mikleo flushes up to his ears; he reaches out and weakly punches Sorey’s shoulder, turning away. “Just wait, when we’re married and I make it for you every day, you won’t like it anymore!”

“I could never ever not like something you make!” Sorey states, completely defiant, even crossing his arms. “But Gramps said we’re too young to marry.”

“You asked him?!” Mikleo twists around, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. His eyes shine beneath his unevenly cut bangs, courtesy of Sorey’s attempt.

“Yeah! He said it’s too early. But he didn’t tell me when it’ll be the time.”

Mikleo hums softly as he bites into the cone. “Maybe today is? I can make us ice rings,” he offers.

Sorey contemplates it for a moment. “That would freeze our fingers. How about we make flower ones?”

Mikleo scoffs, “You don’t know how.”

“But you do!”

“Okay, okay! Go and find me some pretty flowers while I finish my ice cream!”

* * *

It’s way past dinnertime, but Sorey can still taste the remnants of vanilla when he swipes his tongue over his gums. The sound of a page turning fills the otherwise silent room and Sorey’s eyes refocus on Mikleo.

He’s laying on his stomach, book in front of him, one hand lazily playing with the edge of a page while the other supports his chin. Sometimes he moves his hand to brush his fringe out of his eyes, eyes that are staring intently at the word on paper, rowing lines upon lines with unmatched speed.

He wonders how those eyes would look if he leaned down kissed the Seraph; whether they’d widen or fall shut, or maybe a bit of each? What would he do? Would he wrap his arms around Sorey’s shoulders? Would he press back? Would he scratch at the nape of Sorey’s neck, tug at his hair? The wandering thoughts give him a clear picture of Mikleo under him, arching his back.

He doesn’t realize he’d made a sound (which he will deny has been anything even remotely whimper-like) and pulled Mikleo’s attention from his book. “Are you alright?” Mikleo asks, but all Sorey’s mind does is warp the concerned tone into a lower one, breathier and heavier.

Sorey shifts and his pants are uncomfortable. Mikleo is looking at him with furrowed eyebrows, ready to push himself upright and make sure Sorey is okay. Which he isn’t.

Sorey has no idea what to do. Blood rushes up to his cheeks and his whole body feels too hot for comfort. So he does the only logical thing he can; he throws himself onto Mikleo and skirts his fingers down his ribs and sides.

“Gotcha!” he cries, hoping Mikleo’s startled gasp will hide the breathiness of his voice. He rolls over Mikleo, relentlessly tickling him until the Seraph starts thrashing beneath him, trying his best to kick him off.

They end up sliding off the bed, taking the blanket along with them. Sorey hovers above Mikleo so as to not squish him as they recapture their lost breath. Mikleo’s face is red as a tomato, though Sorey is sure his is no better off. But Mikleo’s hair is in disarray, strands sticking out in all directions around him like a mockery of a halo, his eyes are half-closed and chest heaving.

Sorey’s earlier impulse returns full-force and this time he has no idea how to stop it, so he ends up dipping down, pressing his lips against Mikleo’s a little too forcefully. Mikleo goes rigid under him, hands flying up to Sorey’s shoulders (and for a second Sorey thinks he’s going to wind them around his shoulders. for but a second) and pushing him with all his might.

“What was that?” Mikleo questions when Sorey pulls away, looking down with furrowed, confused expression. Mikleo’s slender hand comes up to hide his mouth, cheeks red now for a completely different reason.

Sorey cocks his head to the side, frowning. “What? I just kissed you,” he says, as if it’s that easy.

“Why?!”

“Isn’t it normal? We like each other and we’ve always done this?” Sorey says, his inflection turning it into more of a question than anything.

“When we were kids!” Mikleo exclaims, bringing the other hand up to his face too, to hide it. He squirms on the blanket, but just as quickly he stills again. His eyes go wide and he parts his fingers to look up at Sorey through them. “Sorey… Is that…?”

There’s something poking his thigh and by something he means Sorey’s… He can’t even say it. Oh gods, he can’t even say it.

Maybe he’d said it too quiet, but Sorey didn’t seem to hear him, so he offers no answer. All he does is stay propped over Mikleo, looking down with that adorably confused frown on his face. Mikleo tries calming down, making sense of things.

Sorey’s big frame towering over him doesn’t help.

He takes a deep breath and his nostrils are filled with the scent of old books, of the leather Sorey’s wearing. And something else, too, something entirely Sorey, sweet and fruity, something Mikleo can’t place but it always lingers around the boy, like his trademark.

“You stink,” he blurts, a blatant lie that does make Sorey recoil a little, angling his head to smell himself.

That’s good. Mikleo needs a little distance.

He sits up and pulls the blanket along, moving back to the bed. He doesn’t even realize that his neck hurts until he’s upright again, legs crossed. Sorey joins him on the bed and the silence stretches, like cheese on a piece of bread that’s been left on the fire too long.

Mikleo can’t help himself and he peeks between Sorey’s legs; sure as day, the fabric is tented and Mikleo’s face burns with embarrassment. Does that mean Sorey wants to—? Is that why he kissed him?

Pondering won’t help him figure out anything, so Mikleo pipes up, but all that leaves his lips is a weak, “Um…”

“Do you not like when I kiss you?” Sorey asks instead, looking genuinely worried.

Mikleo looks away, at the bookshelf, at the half-sewn leathers on the bench, at the edge of the blanket that he keeps squeezing in his hand; anywhere but Sorey. “You’re only supposed to like someone you like, Sorey,” he says finally, dodging the question altogether.

“But I do like you!” Sorey says. When Mikleo flicks his gaze onto him, he looks ready to spring forward, to hug him or something, but he forces himself to stay sitting there in front of the Seraph. They have to talk now.

“Sorey, Gramps said someone you love,” Mikleo empathises, but Sorey only scoffs back at him.

“Well, I love you,” he says, stubborn. “You like stuff I do and you’re my best friend and you’re beautiful and we said we’d get married and I keep thinking of kissing you and… doing other stuff!”

Sorey spilling those words feels like someone had squeezed Mikleo’s heart in his chest. But in a good, if that makes any sense. No, it doesn’t. Mikleo covers it with his hand, bunching the fabric of his shirt in his fist. “I… really?”

“Really really,” Sorey nods.

“What… do you mean by other things?”

Sorey falters, and Mikleo remembers that he isn’t the only one embarrassed and unsure. “Well, I… I think of you when I… touch myself,” the brunet admits finally, barely above a whisper. “I got hard just looking at you before…”

Mikleo’s breath gets stuck in his throat, which suddenly feels too dry. He fidgets with the blanket before raising his gaze and looking straight at Sorey. “Can you show me?”

Sorey’s face gets even redder, if that’s even possible at this point, but he nods. Mikleo watches as Sorey unlaces his pants and pulls them down. He can see how much Sorey wants to cover himself from his shaking hands.

Mikleo watches, watches as Sorey bites down at his bottom lip, as he wraps his hand around his hard cock, squeezing his eyes shut at the feeling. He feels frozen there, with his hands on his thighs, fisting his own pants, and he watches. Watches as Sorey pulls his hand up and then down, dragging the foreskin along with the motion and revealing the swollen pink head.

Beads of pearly precum ooze out of the slit and glisten there, and Mikleo bites his own lip as Sorey drags his thumb along the head, smearing the translucence all over the head. Sorey’s mouth flies open at the same time, a small sound getting choked out.

He does it again and again, the noises getting louder and higher in pitch. “Mik—” Sorey whines, and Mikleo’s heart beats wildly in his ribcage, like a trapped bird.

“Mikleo…”

Mikleo’s eyes lock with Sorey’s half-lidded ones, staring at him with a glossy look and wide-blown pupils. Somehow hearing his own name falling off of Sorey’s lips, almost like a mantra, cements this whole thing.

He’d felt like he’d been floating up on a cloud, but now he feels strangely grounded, hearing every slick slide of Sorey’s hand, especially when it speeds up, Sorey’s hips moving along with the rhythm. Every gasp, every moan and whine that pours from Sorey’s vocal chords feels too loud as Mikleo tunes everything else out.

Sorey is beautiful, especially now when he’s flushed down under the collar of his shirt, when his hair sticks to his forehead with sweat, when his puffy, swollen, bitten lips are parted wide to allow him to pant. He’s always beautiful, but right now he’s extra beautiful.

Mikleo doesn’t feel himself moving until he’s shuffling forward, reaching out with a trembling hand to brush over Sorey’s cheek, cupping his face. The contrast of Mikleo’s pale skin and Sorey’s darker, flushed skin is so striking it doesn’t even feel like his own hand.

He leans forward and presses his lips against Sorey’s; he can feel the boy jolting, eyes going wide as he looks at Mikleo, blushing like never before and clumsily moving his lips against Sorey’s. Sorey moans and Mikleo shivers — he could feel the sound reverberating through him as he kept kissing Sorey.

Something wet and warm drops onto his stomach and seeps into his shirt, tickling his skin. He pulls away to look down and is surprised to see white splotches painting both his and Sorey’s stomachs and the other’s hand.

Did Sorey come?

“Did you just come?”

Sorey’s slaps his hands over his red face, smearing the white all over his cheek in his attempt to hide himself. “Yeah…” he groans, and Mikleo laughs, reaching out to brush the come off of Sorey’s cheek.

He stares at it for a second and then wipes it on the covers; they need to be changed anyway. “That was surreal,” he admits, looking away while Sorey fixes his pants back up.

Sorey snorts, scratching the back of his neck. “Why… did you want to watch that?”

The Seraph’s shoulders tense and he purses his lips in embarrassment. “I… I didn’t know what to do? You were hard and it sucks when you can’t relieve yourself and I didn’t want to send you away because that’d be rejecting you but I didn’t think I could touch you? I— I don’t know—?”

“Wait—” Sorey cuts him off, “So you didn’t reject me?”

“In what universe is that rejecting someone?!” Mikleo cries.

Sorey makes a noise that Mikleo would tease him for under normal circumstances. “I don’t know! You didn’t like it when I kissed you!”

“I didn’t know you liked me too!”

The two of them evolve into chuckles and then full-blown laughter, flopping over to lay down side by side. And then Sorey rolls over and almost squishes Mikleo underneath him. The Seraph doesn’t complain.

“So I can kiss you now?” Sorey asks, breath fanning over the side of Mikleo’s face.

“If— If you want to,” Mikleo mumbles back, wrapping his arms around Sorey’s chest. The boy almost melts against him. So maybe his fantasy didn’t come true exactly as he imagined, but he still has Mikleo holding onto him.

“Do you want me to?”

There’s a beat of silence and then Mikleo says, voice small, “Yes.”

Sorey smothers a grin against the other’s neck, but Mikleo must feel it, because he huffs from above. “If I find even one page of my book wrinkled, you’re a dead man.”


End file.
